


I Think That's My Cue

by songlin



Series: What Comes Undone [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Genderbending, Genderswap, girl!Jim, girl!sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-27
Updated: 2011-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-28 06:51:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songlin/pseuds/songlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few people are amused when it comes out that Sherlock and John have started sleeping together. A few are disappointed. Absolutely no one is surprised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Think That's My Cue

_One_

The first person to know was, naturally, Mycroft. Not twelve hours after she had kissed John for the first time, Sherlock’s phone rang. After she had finished ignoring it by John’s request, she picked it up and called him back.

“Calling to gloat, are we?” she said peevishly, swiping John’s boxers from the floor and stepping into them.

“I would hardly call it _gloating_ , Sherlock. I was simply advising that now that you and Mr. Watson are sexually active, you may want to check up on your birth control.”

Sherlock swatted at the hand reaching round her waist trying to tug her back onto the couch. “Thank you for your concern, _Mycroft_ , but you may find that I do remember how to have sex.”

“Really now? Even with men? It has been quite a while.”

“Like riding a bicycle,” Sherlock snapped, tugging her shirt back over her breasts.

“You know how to ride a bicycle?” John asked into the small of Sherlock’s back.

She swiped at him with her free hand. “Now good evening Mycroft, and remember, if you tell Mummy they will never find your body.”

Mycroft laughed. “Oh, Sherlock. Your ambition is admirable.”

Sherlock threw the phone to the floor.

_Two_

The second person was Mrs. Hudson, who stopped by that evening with a plate of biscuits (“I made far too many for me to eat all by my lonesome; the carbohydrates, you know. Just remember, I’m not your housekeeper!”) and the news that the couple next door were on the rocks.

“Incidentally, dears, if you wouldn’t mind in the future keeping it down a bit? It’s hard enough to catch a bit of shut-eye in this city already. But don’t let me keep you from your fun!”

John, blushing furiously, thanked her for the biscuits and bid her good night.

_Three_

The third person to know was, more accurately, several persons. Two days later they got a call from Lestrade about a diplomat’s son who’d gone missing with his girlfriend and turned up floating in the Channelsea River. When they arrived at the crime scene they were greeted with the always-charming Sally Donovan, who led them past the mob of cameras and under the police tape only under threat. Sherlock grabbed John’s wrist as they fought their way through, and did not let go until she needed the hand to balance herself against the ground when she knelt next to the body. John glanced at Donovan before squatting down beside her, and saw Donovan’s eyebrows practically disappearing into her hairline.

When John next looked up, half the police force, including Lestrade, Anderson, and at least four CSI techs he had never seen before, were gathered in a clump, whispering loudly to each other, and sneaking furtive glances at Sherlock. He sighed and rolled his eyes.

Sherlock remained entirely oblivious.

“--and as Purdue Senior does _not_ carry the gene whereas Madison Young’s father _does_ , we can conclude with fair certainty that Madison Young is not Dylan Purdue’s girlfriend but rather his half-sister. The question is...the question is why _no one is listening to me_.” Sherlock glared at the cluster of police, who shuffled their feet and looked about guiltily.

“I think they’ve got us figured,” John whispered.

Sherlock sighed. “Well, then, if no one can do anything of a productive nature until they’ve satisfied their curiosity, yes, on Thursday night John Watson and I had intimate relations. We fucked, for those of you who aren’t following,” she added, squinting pointedly at Anderson, who looked gobsmacked.

Lestrade beamed triumphantly. “I believe Thursday night into Friday morning was me, wasn’t it? Payment can be made back at the office so long as it’s by the next pub night.”

There was a great deal of grumbling.

“Now if we all would like to get some real work done,” said Sherlock irritably, “you’d best hope John is in a helpful mood because I’m not repeating myself.”

John was, fortunately, feeling quite helpful (thanks in no small part to the fantastic blowjob he’d gotten that morning), and filled in Lestrade as the others returned to their places around the perimeter.

_Breathe_

There was another person who found out not long after, courtesy of two wiretaps and gossiping police. She grinned and gleefully rubbed her hands together. It was a decidedly supervillain-ish gesture, but she did have such a fondness for theatricality.

The next day, there was a note on the door of 221B Baker Street.

_I hear congratulations are in order. Workplace romance is so sweetly sentimental._

_Ta, lovelies!_

 


End file.
